


The Soldier - Captain America

by wolfy_writing



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 17:22:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1477846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfy_writing/pseuds/wolfy_writing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the film Captain America: The Winter Soldier</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Soldier - Captain America

The soldier awoke before dawn.  He pulled the stolen sweatshirt on, and then he checked the perimeter. 

Clear.  The building was empty as when he's come in.  Two days since he'd settled in, and he hadn't seen a hint of surveillance. 

Perhaps no one was looking for him.

The thought felt unfamiliar, and oddly uncomfortable.  He shook it off, pulled on his gloves, and set off for a run.

A soldier must maintain peak physical condition at all times.  He couldn't remember where he'd first heard that - the words in his head were sometimes Russian, sometimes English, and occasionally German - but experience had taught him it was true.  He had to be strong.  Strength was one thing he could rely on.

He started the run sharp and focused, constantly scanning the area for threats.  But his feet fell into a rhythm and his mind began to wander. __

_Bucky swung his fist, dropping the guy in front of him, then turned.  "Steve!"_

_Steve was on the ground, and the last guy was towering over him, kicking.  Steve wasn't fighting back.  That was really bad.  It took a lot to make Steve stop fighting back._

_Bucky let out a yell and charged the big guy, knocking him into the wall.  The guy groaned and took a swing, but Bucky slammed his head against the bricks a few times._

_"Don't kick a guy when he's down!"   Bucky gave the guy's head one last slam, and then let him stagger off.  Bucky turned to Steve, who was slowly sitting up._

_Bucky bent down.  "Easy now.  Don't push it."_

_Steve shook his head and spat blood.  "I was doing okay until he got a lucky punch."_

_Bucky took out his handkerchief and started wiping the blood from Steve's face.  "I know you were."_  
  
A horn honked, and the soldier stopped.  He'd nearly run out into traffic.  He didn't know how far he was from the abandoned building.  It felt like he'd run into a long way.

He'd nearly run out into traffic.  He would have, if not for the honking.  He'd let himself get distracted, and his alertness had failed.

There'd been danger, and he hadn't seen it coming.  He couldn't afford that.

Return to base, said something automatic in his head.  Wipe and reset.  That will get your focus back.  All of the confusion will go away.

But there was no base anymore, and no one left to do the wipes.  And he wasn't sure he wanted the confusion to go away like that.

He looked at the street sign.  14th and I.  He could probably backtrack and find the building again, but it was past time he moved on.   The Smithsonian visit had been useful, but DC was too dangerous.  Too many agencies operating here.  Too many people had a reason to remember him.

\---

"Barnes," he repeated to himself while driving.  "James Barnes.  Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.  Jim Barnes.  Bucky..."  He broke off.

_"Bucky?" Steve asked, staring at him in shock._

_"Who the hell is Bucky?"  He didn't know why he'd asked that.  You don't ask a target questions, unless it's an interrogation.  You go in, either hard or stealth, you kill the target and anyone who gets in the way, and you get out fast.  Especially with a target like Captain America, who was supposed to be right at the human limits when it came to strength and speed._

_But this target was just standing there, staring at the soldier like he couldn't believe what he was seeing, and the soldier had wasted an opportunity to shoot._

_He wouldn't waste another._

_He pulled his weapon, and took careful aim._

"Nyet!"  The soldier snapped back into focus.  He pulled the car over to the side of the road, and stopped.  He took several deep breaths.

He'd shot a lot of people, more than he could entirely remember, and yet he was being haunted by the face of someone he hadn't even killed.

There was a reason for that, if what he'd read was true.  They'd been best friends, way back when.  Sergeant Bucky Barnes, Captain America's loyal sidekick, who'd been his best friend since forever, who'd fought alongside him, who'd been...tortured...

Tortured for months, the exhibit said.  His hand, the flesh one, started shaking badly. 

_"Oh my God!"  Hands tore at the straps._

_"Is...is that..." Bucky tried to focus.  It looked like...._

_"It's me.  It's Steve."_

_"Steve?"  Bucky stared.  Something didn't make sense.  Steve looked...different.  Bigger._

_Bucky wondered, not for the first time, if he was dying.  Nearly everyone they'd brought up had died already, and now Steve, with his asthma and his bad heart was tall and strong and coming to the rescue._

_As far as dying visions, he thought, he could do worse._

_"Steve."  Bucky smiled._

_"Come on.  Come on."  Steve helped Bucky to his feet, and it hurt enough that Bucky decided he was probably alive._

_Steve looked Bucky up and down and patted him, as if making sure everything was still there.  "I thought you were dead."_

_Bucky looked Steve over.  "I thought you were smaller."_

"Stop it!" the soldier hissed to himself.  "Stop it now."  He gripped his flesh hand with his steel one.  That was Barnes's memory, Barnes's life.  Bucky Barnes was the one who got the impossible good fortune of Steve Rodgers growing a foot taller and breaking into a Nazi base to save him.  It was Barnes who got rescued with his mind and body in one piece, not the soldier. 

Hydra assassins with broken programming were either wiped and reused, or terminated.  No one came to rescue them. 

Don't bet on it, said something in his head that sounded suspiciously like Bucky Barnes. Steve never knows when to quit.

\---

North, the soldier decided, he could go north.  He might be noticed less there.  He needed gloves if he was going to stay off the radar - they were far less noticeable than a metal hand - but in warm weather they still got looks. 

He had no idea what he was going to do after he'd managed to disappear, but right now, he had goals.

Don't get caught.  Stay in condition.  Make sure that he wasn't being chased by the CIA, NSA, SHIELD, or any other agency.  If someone from HYDRA was still active and looking for him, he'd...he'd...

His steel hand clamped down on the steering wheel and snapped off a piece.  The car twisted sideways and crashed into a telephone pole.

The soldier snapped back into focus when the air bag hit him in the face.  Physical damage, minor - some bruises and a bloody nose.  Supplies - no damage.  He could grab everything and be gone in two minutes.  The car - abandon it, and burn it to destroy evidence.  (They could trace your blood these days, or your hair or your skin, something in it that was far more precise than a blood type, and lead back directly to you.)  Witnesses -

Bad.  A young negro...black woman was coming towards him, a look of concern on her face.  A few other people passed by, mostly ignoring him, but a man on the corner had taken out a cell phone.

The soldier's hand went automatically to the pistol on his belt.  He could take them out with  handgun from here, torch the car, and be out while everyone else was still panicking. 

Aw come on, said the Buckyish part of his head.  She's just trying to be nice.

She's a witness, barked something automatic and Russian.  She's already close enough to see your face. 

The soldier let go of the pistol.  He wasn't going to listen to the ghosts in his head. 

"Are you okay?"  The woman tapped on the window.  "Do you need an ambulance?"  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a phone.

Barnes, thought the soldier, if you're in there, help me pull this off.  He forced a smile.  "I'm fine.  Bee in the car."  He wiped his bloody nose on the back of his sleeve.  "You don't need to call anyone.  I'm two blocks from my girl's house, and she'll help me get cleaned up.  Then we can call someone about the car." 

The woman kept giving him a worried stare.  "You sure?  You might have a concussion or something."

"Trust me, I'm fine."  The soldier unbuckled his seatbelt and grabbed his bag.  "I just need to get cleaned up."  He stepped out of the car and started walking away.

There was no way to burn the car without looking suspicious, which meant there'd still be blood for them to trace, but shooting her would cause too much attention.  It was a tactical decision, he told himself.

The Buckyish part of his mind just laughed.

\---

 

A brown-haired girl picked the book up off the park bench.  "Is this yours?"

The soldier glanced at the woman, then nodded.  It was a history book on the Howling Commandos.  The soldier had made it about two chapters in before stopping to tear pages out.

There was Steve - Captain America - Steve, and the experimental program.  Needles, drugs, machines...

_"Did it hurt?" Bucky asked, trying not to picture Steve strapped down and screaming while some German-accented scientist shot liquid fire into his veins.  It was America.  They wouldn't have done it that way._

_"A bit."_

"What happened to it?"  The girl picked up the scattered pages.

Barnes had happened to it.  James Buchanan Barnes, the loyal American who hadn't broken after months of Hydra experimentation, who'd been Captan America's loyal best friend, who'd once been strong enough to rescue America's favorite hero from a fight...

The soldier had been assigned to kill Captain America when he'd first been found.    He didn't know how long ago that was - maybe a few years, maybe a few weeks.  He'd been pulled from the assignment after three days of preparation.

The whole time he'd felt nothing.

He was coming to miss feeling nothing.

"Bad history?"  The girl arranged the pages in a neat little heap on top of the book.  "I know the feeling.  I'm a history major, and while I don't normally kill the books like that, I've thrown a lot of them at the wall.  What's your name?"

The soldier opened his mouth.  For a long moment, no words came out.  "James," he finally said.

The girl gave him an odd look.  "Are you okay?  You seem kind of...out of it."

The soldier blinked.  His eyes caught the small piece of metal in her hair.

He snatched it.

"Hey!" she grabbed for the metal, still playing the affronted student, but the soldier crushed it between his fingers. 

A blue flicker revealed the woman's real face.  She stepped back, her hands drifting to her side in search of a weapon.  She gave the soldier a cautious, professional look.

The red-headed SHIELD woman. 

"Tell the other SHIELD spies to stay back," said the soldier.  "You know I can crush your throat."

"There are no other spies," said the woman.  "I'm here alone.  A favor for a friend."

"Who does your friend want me to kill?"

"No one.  He's worried about you.  He knows you.  Steve Rodgers.  Do you remember him?"

"I don't remember anything," the soldier replied.  He glanced around with his peripheral vision, but there was no sign of anyone.

"We can help you with that," said the woman.  "There are ways of helping you remember who you were."

"Making me what you want?" asked the soldier.  "Built Captain America a Bucky Barnes?"

The woman shook her head.  "Help you remember everything.  All of what happened.  Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, the whole story."

"Why keep all of that?

The woman looked down.  "It's the only way.  You can't move forward until you know the whole story.  What you did, as well as what was done to you."  She put out a hand, trying to touch his arm.

The soldier stepped back.  "What do you know about that?"

"More than you'd think," said the woman.  "I know about the program, how they made you what you are.  I know you haven't killed anyone since you last saw Steve.  I know you haven't gone looking for Hydra cells.  That means a lot.  You're changing, being more than what they taught you to be.  I can help you figure out how to handle that."

The solder felt shaking start up again, sharp, nasty trembling.  He gripped his gun.  "Walk away, or I'll put another bullet in you."

The woman gave him a sympathetic look.  "I'm not going to force you into anything.  Not as long as you're not hurting people.  I know how it is with a change like this, and it has to be your choice.  When you're ready, I'll be there."

To the soldier's surprise, she walked away.

\---

He didn't need to stop in New York.  He could have gone further north, into Canada, and crossed the Arctic into Russia.  Although Russia wasn't the same anymore.

New York wasn't the worst choice.  It was big and crowded, with international transportation and shipping to nearly anywhere in the world, in case he needed to disappear. 

It was also where Bucky Barnes grew up.  Maybe there, Barnes's ghost would be put to rest.

Barnes had no living relatives, public records said.  No surprise there.  Barnes hadn't had any brothers or sisters, and he'd never married.  His father, a veteran of the First World War, had died in a training accident shortly before the second one broke out. 

When he'd fallen off the train, Bucky Barnes had no one but Steve.

Both frozen, said the Buckyish voice in the soldier's head.  Both here and alive in the twenty-first century.  That's got to mean something.

The soldier ignored the voice.

Come on, said the Buckyish voice.  Do you really want to waste a chance like that?

"Go away," muttered the soldier.  "You're dead.  You're a ghost that won't shut up."

A man paused and stared, and the soldier realized he'd said that out loud. 

\---

The soldier stepped into a bar in Little Odessa.  He'd tried looking for landmarks from Bucky's...from the old neighborhood, but there was nothing he could remember.  Finally, he'd followed the sound of voices speaking Russian.  It wasn't Bucky, but it was comfortably familiar.

He sat at the bar and ordered a double vodka, neat.  It didn't hit as hard as he expected - he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a drink - but it left a warm, pleasant feeling that lingered for a few minutes before fading.  He ordered another.

"Good stuff," said the old man on the next stool, speaking in Russian.  "The real thing.  Most places have switched to Polish shit."

The soldier nodded. 

"Where are you from?" asked the old man.

"Vladivostok," said the soldier.  He had, he thought, been kept in Vladivostok for a while, before he'd been passed on to Hydra's North American operations.  

The old man grinned.  "No wonder you need a drink.  What's your name?"

The soldier opened his mouth, but nothing came out.  He couldn't make himself say "James" again, and didn't know if he'd even want to.

The old man looked at him and nodded.  "Never mind.  Running from something?"

The soldier had to stop himself from nodding.

The old man looked at the soldier's gloves.  "Tattoo, or scar?"

"What?"

"Your hands.  Tattoo, or scar?  It's not cold enough for gloves, not in this weather."

The soldier's mouth went dry.  He downed his vodka, and spoke.  "Prosthetic."

"Shit," said the old man.  "Army?"

"Yeah."

The old man nodded.  "Another drink, on me."

"Careful," said the bartender.  "Try to keep up with this one, and they'll be scraping you off the floor."

The soldier smiled.  "I think I'll be okay."

\---

"You're new here," said a young woman.  "We don't get that many new people.  Usually not such handsome ones."  She slid onto the stool next to him.  "I'm Katya.  What's your name?"

The soldier opened his mouth again, but the old man spoke first.  "Kolya.  My nephew.  Just back from the army."

The waitress smiled.  "A soldier, then?   That explains why you look so strong."  She put a hand on the soldier's arm.  "Ooh, muscles like steel!  How old are you?"

"Ninety-eight," said the soldier, before he could think.

Katya laughed, revealing dazzling white teeth.

She had a very pretty face, the soldier noticed.  Smooth skin, honey-blonde hair, and long lashes. 

_"Next time," said Bucky, staggering through the front door.  "We'll get some girls next time."_

_Steve swayed and put an arm on Bucky's shoulder.  "Maybe you will.  Girls don't exactly go for the short, skinny asthmatic type."_

_"Sure they do."  Bucky steered them to the couch.  "You just need to know how to sell it.  You're an artist..."_

_"I draw some..."_

_"You're an artist," repeated Bucky.  "Girls love that.  Play that up.  Girls love the sensitive artistic pretty boys."_

_Steve laughed.  "Aren't pretty boys supposed to be, you know, pretty?"_

_"You're pretty," said Bucky.  "In kind of a girly way.  You've got those big eyes, that hair..."  He ruffled Steve's hair.  "Those lips..."  He put a finger on Steve's lips._

_Steve looked straight into Bucky's eyes, and for a moment, everything went still.  Bucky realized he was holding his breath._

_Steve went red and looked down._

_Bucky turned his head.  "There's this cute new girl at the soda fountain.  I think she's got a sister."_

"Are you okay?" Katya asked.  She waved her hand in front of the soldier's face.

The soldier drew a breath. People kept asking him that.  He needed to seem better at normal.

"He's been in the army," said the old man.  "He's sweet, but a little..."  He paused and made a gesture.  "He just needs a bit of kindness."

Katya smiled and put her hand on the soldier's thigh.  "I can be kind."  She leaned forward and smiled.  "I can be very kind indeed."

The soldier met her eyes.  He'd wanted to learn who Bucky was, and now he knew.  Bucky was a man who'd go home with a pretty girl and try very hard not to think about Steve while he did.

The soldier decided he could be Bucky that night.

\---

"Your hand," said Katya, when the soldier pulled off his gloves.  "Did you lose it?"

The soldier took off the sweatshirt.  "The whole arm." 

"What happened?" asked Katya.

"I fell," said the soldier.  That felt odd, like the truth and a lie at once.  Barnes fell, the soldier knew, but it was just a line of text.  Bucky Barnes fell from the train and plummeted to his death. 

As if it could be that simple. 

Katya ran her hand along the prosthetic.  "I've never seen anything like this.  Can you feel it when I touch you?"

"I can feel pressure," said the soldier.  They'd put in some fairly sophisticated pressure sensors to make sure he didn't accidentally crush anything.  "I don't feel heat or cold or pain."

"How about when I touch you here?"  Katya touched the scars on his shoulder joint.

"Not much."  The scar tissue was thick and dulled the sensation to the point he could hardly tell where his skin stopped and the artificial arm began.

Katya smiled mischievously and slid her free hand up his thigh.  "How about...here?" she asked, giving a gentle squeeze.

The soldier nodded.  He felt he should say something witty and flirtatious, but the words wouldn't come.

It didn't matter, though.  Katya knew what to do.

\---

_Bucky dropped the first Nazi soldier with a single rifle shot to the head.  He reloaded, and got off the second shot when the second Nazi looked up.  It hit right between the eyes.   Bucky slung the rifle over his back, and ran out to the overturned motorcycle._

_Steve had dragged himself upright and was leaning against a tree, clutching his side.  "It's okay," he said, when Bucky ran over.  "The bullet just grazed me."  He had a bleeding wound low down near his hip, and bruises all down the side of his face from where he fell._

_"What makes you think it was you I was worried about?" Bucky asked, digging through his pockets.  "Who knows what you've done to that motorcycle?"  He pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it to the wound in Steve's side.   "I lose more handkerchiefs this way."_

_Steve smiled, and suddenly he was lying on the helicarrier, while Bucky - the soldier - Bucky was punching him, and he wouldn't fight back.   And that was bad, really bad, if Steve wasn't fighting back.  He kept hitting and hitting and Steve just lay there bleeding, it felt like his head was split open, and and he wasn't taking down the target and he didn't have a handkerchief to wipe the blood from Steve's face..._

"Kolya,"  Someone was shaking him.   The soldier rolled out of bed and twisted to his feet, arms up and ready to fight.

Katya kneeled on the bed, staring at the soldier with wide, frightened eyes.  "You were having a nightmare."

The soldier stood still, steadying his breathing.  The tension started to drain from his muscles and he let his arms drop.

Katya slid closer.  "You've seen some bad things, yes?"

The soldier nodded. 

Katya reached out and put an hand on the soldier's arm.  "Who's Steve?"

The soldier's mechanical arm shot out and grabbed Katya's throat, pinning her to the wall.  "Who told you that name?"

Katya gasped.  "You did.  You said it in your sleep."

The soldier let go of Katya,  She slid to the floor, her face red and dripping with tears.

"I'm sorry," said the soldier.  He turned and ran.

\---

The soldier nearly didn't want to go back to the bar, but he wanted to see that he hadn't hurt Katya too badly.  He hadn't meant to do that to her.  He couldn't think of any way to make it right, but he still wanted to check in.

He stopped outside the door.  Inside, he could hear the old man speaking in heavily accented English.  "No, I have not seen that man.  We do not get many strangers here."

"If you see him, could you let me know?"  A familiar voice froze the soldier to the spot.  "I'm a friend of his.  I'm trying to help him."

Steve.  Steve was looking for him.  Steve was trying to help. 

The soldier's stomach twisted.   He wanted to run in and wrap Steve in his arms, and turn around and run away.  He put his hand on the door, and froze.

He couldn't be Bucky anymore.  He couldn't run in and smile and step back into Bucky's life, not with a mechanical arm and shattered memories and more people killed than he could even remember.   Not after he'd who'd worked for the KGB, worked for Hydra, done whatever he was told for whoever could afford to buy him and then been stuffed back on ice.

Bucky had been captured and stayed who he was.  He'd shaken off everything they'd done to him and come back a hero.

_"I'm going to ask you a question, Barnes."  Colonel Phillips leaned across the table.  "And before I do, I want to make the situation absolutely clear.  Forty men were taken up to that isolation ward, and we have eight survivors.  Six seem to be dying of some poison our medics don't understand, one who seems to have gone insane, and...you.  The medic here gave you a clean bill of health.  If they went easy on you because you talked, or because you made some other arrangement, the US Army needs to know.  Lying will only make it worse.  Now what happened.”_

_Bucky drew a deep breath, trying to look as stable and steady as he could.  “Interrogation mostly.  Some injections.  I don’t know what.”  There’d also been that…machine, but he didn’t know how to explain it without sounding crazy.  “I don’t think I talked.  I don’t remember everything that happened.  As far as I know, all I told them was name, rank and serial number.”_

_Colonel Phillips nodded.  “And you’re still fit for service?  Not going to crack under pressure?”_

_“No, sir!  Fit for duty, sir!”_

_“Good.  I’m sending you to London for R &R.  Rodgers is going to brief people on the Hydra situation, and right now, I suspect I couldn’t pry him away from you with a crowbar.   Go drink, dance with English girls, and if you do remember anything, there are some high-level people who want to know what happened up there.  You’re dismissed.”_

_Steve was waiting just outside the tent.  He’d been glued to Bucky since the rescue.  “Everything okay?” he asked._

_“Great,” said Bucky, with a smile that felt almost completely natural.  “Just great.”_  
  
"I've seen your friend," said the bartender.  "He was just in here yesterday.”

The soldier snapped back into focus and got ready to run. 

"Can you help me find him?," asked Steve.  "He's an old army buddy, he's got pretty bad shell-shock...PTSD.  I'm trying to help him get back somewhere it can be treated."

The soldier found himself smiling softly in spite of everything.  That was Steve all over.  When he lied, he stuck as close as possible to the truth.

He couldn't do this, the soldier decided.  He couldn't be Bucky Barnes.

"I can help," said the bartender.  "He's staying with Katya.  I know where she lives.  I can take you there."

The soldier paused.  Maybe the bartender was guessing.  Maybe Katya had lied about what happened. 

Or maybe the bartender was lying, and trying to get Steve somewhere alone.

The soldier walked off a short distance, and ducked into an alley.  The bartender stepped out, followed by Steve.

The soldier trailed behind, blending into the crowd.  He pulled the hood on his sweatshirt up and tucked his hands in his pockets, so no one could see he was wearing gloves, and followed.

\---

The apartment building wasn't Katya's the soldier saw right away.  It was an old building, poorly lit, with grime on the walls. 

Steve, to his credit, was looking around warily.  "Bucky's staying here?"

"He was calling himself Kolya, but yes  Your friend, the mechanical arm?"

The soldier slid his hand in his jacket pocket and grasped a knife.  Unless Katya had gotten extremely chatty with the bartender, he'd have no way of knowing about the arm.

"Here it is," said the bartender.  "Katya's place."  He knocked.  "Hello?"

"Come in," said a voice that wasn't Katya.  The door swung open, and a black-haired woman waved Steve inside.  "Mikhail called me.  He said you were looking for Bucky?"

Steve stepped inside, and the bartender followed.  He shut the door behind him, but the lock was cheap, and it only took the soldier a moment to pick.

Mikhail, the bartender, was standing in the front hall, his back to the door.  He clearly wasn't a professional, as he didn't notice the door opening behind him.

"Where's Bucky?" asked Steve. 

"No idea," the woman replied.  "He disappeared before we knew what we'd found.  That old man wasted so much time, lying about having a nephew.  Was he SHIELD?"

"Right now, no one's really SHIELD," said Steve. 

"We didn't know who your Bucky was until little Katya talked," said the woman.  "But we knew what you were, before you even arrived."

Mikhail reached into his jacket, grabbing for what looked like a shoulder holster.

The soldier didn't wait to find out.  He stepped forward and cut Mikhail's throat from behind.

Steve turned, wide-eyed, just as Mikhail hit the floor.  The black-haired woman snapped her wrist, flicking out a collapsible baton.  "Heil Hydra!" she shouted, then charged.

Steve dodged, then floored her with one punch.

There was a long moment of silence, then the soldier spoke.  "What do you do without me around to look after you?"

Steve ducked his head.  "I got frozen for seventy years, and aliens nearly destroyed New York.  We should probably stick together from now on."

The soldier shook his head.  "I can't."

Steve looked up, eyes wide.  "Bucky..."

"Stop it!" said the soldier.  "Bucky's gone.  He died a long time ago.  I can't...I can't be him anymore."

"Be who you are now."  Steve swallowed hard.  "I know things aren't the same, but we can still..."

"No," said the soldier.  "We can't."  He threw a stun-dart, fast and low, and Steve hit the floor, twitching. 

The soldier bent down and took Mikhail's gun.  He shot the Hydra woman clean through the head, so she wouldn't get up before Steve did.

Then he turned and walked away.

He was halfway to Alaska before he was confident there was no one following him.  Steve - Captain America - must have decided to stop looking.

Don't bet on it, said the Bucky voice.  It'd take more than you can do to make Steve Rodgers give up on a friend.  He's still looking.

The thought was strangely comforting.  


End file.
